


Flatfooted

by DachOsmin



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Study, I'm so sorry, Infinity War (Marvel Comics), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 05:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14466327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: On the eve of the battle with the armies of Thanos, M’Baku finds himself in the bed of his king.





	Flatfooted

On the eve of the battle with the armies of Thanos, M’Baku finds himself in the bed of his king.

To be entirely fair, M’Baku finds himself in T’Challa’s bed most nights. It started with a look exchanged across the battlefield as they fought Killmonger. One thing led to another, and M’Baku woke tangled in the royal bedsheets the morning after T’Challa’s second coronation, T’Challa fixing him with a lazy smile.

Once there, he has found it rather difficult to leave.

T’Challa is a good king, he has grudgingly come to admit, and no less important, a good man. He makes his decisions with careful deliberation and follows through with decisive action. He is somber and dignified when duty requires it, clever and joyful when duty does not.

And he is a good lover as well. He knows how to use his hands and ply his kisses. Their bed is filled with kindness and laughter.

But tonight, there is no laughter.

They lie side by side on their backs, hips and shoulders pressed against each other as the moonlight paints the room a pale silver.

T’Challa is restless: his legs shift in the blankets; every now and then he sighs deeply as he worries at the edges of the sheets.

M’Baku does not push him. He will speak when he speaks. There is no rushing these conversations.

At length T’Challa lets out a deep exhale. “Do you think I am doing the right thing?” he asks.

M’Baku shifts onto his side so that they face each other. “Mmm?”

“To invite the fight to our own borders.” T’Challa clarifies. “I know it is not the Jabari way.”

“It is not,” M’Baku concedes.

“But still you follow me?”

M’Baku thinks for a moment. He reaches out to press his knuckles against T’Challa’s cheek. “It is not the Jabari way,” he repeats. “But my way is to follow you.”

T’Challa lets out a wry chuckle even as he leans into M’Baku’s touch. “Because I am your king?”

M’Baku traces the line of his jaw with his thumb. “You are,” he says. “But that is not why I follow you.”

T’Challa’s eyes soften in the dark. “I do not deserve you,” he whispers. He catches M’Baku’s wrist and brings the palm of his hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the softness there.

“My king,” M’Baku breathes.

T’Challa laughs and leans in to plant another kiss at the tender place where his jaw meets his neck. “Do not call me that in bed, love.”

M’Baku rolls him onto his back with a growl. “ _T’Challa.”_

T’Challa’s eyes go dark and he reaches up to pull their mouths together. As M’Baku surrenders to the pull of their bodies his last thought is a fervent wish that dawn never comes. He prays this night lasts forever: that he may never have to leave this bed, the worship of T’Challa’s hands, the brightness of his smile.

He is drifting off to sleep, his body suffused with a well-sated weariness, when T’Challa once again speaks into the darkness.

“If I should fall tomorrow…”

“You will not fall tomorrow,” he murmurs.

“…but if I do,” T’Challa presses, and even in the dark, M’Baku can sense he is rolling his eyes. “If I do, watch over our people for me.”

“You will not fall,” M’Baku says again, and means it.

Tc’Challa is the Black Panther, infused with divine strength and warded with the best tech Wakanda has to offer. M’Baku does not like tech on principle, but he cannot begrudge it for keeping T’Challa safe.

No, if anyone is to fall, it will be M’Baku himself.

***

Day comes, the sun rises, and M’Baku goes forth to face the enemy hordes at T’Challa’s side.

He faces them in leather, in woven grass, with a wooden club in his hands and tranquility in his heart.

T’Challa is a study in contrasts beside him. He wears his suit proudly, like a man born to it. The suit glitters in the sunlight, belieing the modern marvels of engineering in the suit’s construction: the nets of woven nanoparticles scattered over the surface and the vibranium fibers threaded beneath.

They are the two of them Wakanda’s twin faces: her bright future and her storied past. It is a past M’Baku is proud of, and he is happy to wield the club in his hands: the same one his father carried, and his father’s father, and his father before him as well. But he has no illusion about the efficacy of wood against an unending horde of eldritch monsters.

He very well may die today.

“T’Challa,” he rumbles as they stare at the army massing on the other side of the barrier. “I am proud to fight beside you, brother.”

T’Challa keeps his eyes trained forward, but M’Baku can see the slight curve at the edges of his lips. If M’Baku survives the day, he resolves he will spend all night kissing those lips into a smile in truth.

And if he does not survive the day… well, what will be, will be. There are worse ways to die than fighting beside the man he loves under a fierce spring sun.

Death: he accepts it, welcomes it and expects it. And so he is surprised, almost flat footed, when the battle clears around him and he is still standing, the club of his ancestors solid and unbroken in his hands.

He turns to find T’Challa, to clap him on the back and press a kiss to his temple in celebration of their victory.

And then he hears it: Okoye’s grief-stricken cry cutting through the air like shearing metal.

And then he sees it: bitter twist of ash on the wind.

And then he feels it in his heart: an ending.

He had expected it would be him. All this time, ever since T’Challa had announced he intended to fight the hordes, he had expected it would be him.

 He had never considered it would be Tchalla instead.

Beside him Okoye is crying and saying something, but he does not hear it. Instead he is focused on that sudden quiet and the cold stony numbness in his chest.

On how curious a thing it is: that his world has just ended, and it caught him completely by surprise.


End file.
